In a remote village in the eastern reaches of the Celuroa Kingdom, near the border with the Kingdom of Egerea, lived a certain magi craftman.
He had once been a royal magi craftman for the Celuroa Kingdom, but he had grown weary of life in the capital. He chose to retire and return to his birthplace to live in seclusion.
This man had a single disciple.
The Boy was the child of a distant relative whom the master had taken on after recognizing his talent back in the capital.
The master had many other disciples once, but few showed any real promise. Moreover, when he announced his retirement to the countryside, the Boy was the only one who chose to follow him.
The others had abandoned him, offering various excuses—claims of family obligations or a dislike for the provinces.
"You are my only true disciple," the master told him, and he proceeded to pass on everything he knew to the Boy.
The master’s specialty was golems. While he was capable of producing other magic tools, golem construction was his greatest strength.
The Celuroa Kingdom had long relied on golems to supplement its labor force, and his techniques were a cornerstone of that industry.
His golems stood apart from those made by others.
First, they could "speak"—meaning they possessed a high degree of autonomy.
Second, they were powerful. They boasted three times the output of a standard golem. This meant a single unit could do the work of three, though that didn't apply to every type of task.
Lastly, they were beautiful. Even his work-model golems possessed a refined, sophisticated form within their ruggedness.
True aesthetic beauty relies on an innate sense that cannot be easily taught, but functional beauty falls within the realm of technique, and thus he was able to impart it to a fair degree.
By the time the Boy had grown into a young man, the master had finished passing on nearly all his knowledge and skills to him.
Then, the gears of fate began to turn.
"Are you the genius magi craftman I've heard rumors of?"
A man stood before the young man. He appeared to be five or six years older than him—perhaps having just turned thirty.
"Who are you?"
To the young man's suspicious expression, the man replied, "Let's just say I am a Messenger from ancient times."
"I see. And what business does this 'Messenger from ancient times' have with me?"
"Would you not like to develop your abilities even further and exercise them to your heart's content?"
"What did you say?"
The man's words were unremarkable, but the phrase "to your heart's content" piqued the young man's interest.
"Well, seeing is believing. Come with me."
The man turned on his heel and began walking away. He acted as if it were a foregone conclusion that the youth would follow.
Though it was somewhat irritating, his curiosity won out. The young man began walking behind the man.
The man led him to an old mansion on the outskirts of town.
"Enter."
Turning around for the first time, the man opened the door himself and invited the young man inside.
And there, he met his destiny.
What appeared before the young man was perfection.
Whether in functional beauty or aesthetic form, she was flawless. Well, save for one thing.
Her left arm was broken.
"T-This is..."
A girl with golden hair, crimson eyes, and skin like white porcelain.
He had never seen an automata so beautiful.
The girl opened her mouth.
"Hello. I am Elena. Are you the one who will repair my arm?"
Even her voice was sweet. The young man was captivated instantly.
For a long moment, he could not even find his voice, simply staring into the crimson eyes of the automata named Elena.
The words of the man who had brought him there broke his reverie.
"Well? Are you capable of repairing her arm?"
The young man shook his head silently. He could tell just by looking. Elena, standing before him, was a work of art.
He—or rather, the current him—could not repair her yet.
However...
"I will make it so that I can repair you one day."
Those words escaped his lips naturally.
The young man, too, had been ensnared by Elena's bewitching charm.
The man's words had been no lie.
The basement of the Mansion was packed with magic tools he had never seen before and artifacts he had never heard of.
Furthermore, books written in the ancient language detailed magic and magical techniques that were thought to have been lost to time.
The young man was overjoyed. He thanked the man and immediately began his research to elevate his own skills.
One year, two years, three years.
Time passed.
Five years, ten years.
As more time flowed by, the young man became a man in his prime.
He had not yet reached the point where he could fully restore Elena, but his research was progressing steadily.
"Hehe, I am looking forward to it."
Elena's movements were already fluid. The restoration of her joints and muscles was complete.
However, he was still unable to reproduce her skin and skeletal structure.
"I believe in you. I know you will be the one to fix me."
Faced with such words from the automata who visited him occasionally, the man in his prime redoubled his efforts.
He created prototypes for dozens upon dozens of golems. In the process, his golem-making skills improved even further.
Golems specialized for combat were a matter of course. He even completed units that boasted nearly double the performance of his master's golems—which had already been three times stronger than conventional models.
Notable among them were golems with the power to Overwrite commands onto the control cores of opposing golems.
Additionally, by utilizing a mana-amplifying gemstone called Elradrite discovered during his research, he created golems capable of temporarily outputting over ten times their usual power.
There were many others besides.
His work was not limited to golems; he also created swords imbued with mana and shields that could block magic.
Just as the Messenger from ancient times had said, the technology of the past was several levels above that of the present.
In between his research, he traveled to various ruins, bringing back artifacts and studying them, layering effort upon effort to get even a little closer to the past.
"Ho, this ancient weapon called a Gigas found in these ruins... it seems to have some quite interesting functions."
The man was now in the peak of his maturity. His spirit was full, and the flame of his passion, far from fading, burned even brighter.
"A Gigas? That is a failure," Elena said. She would occasionally come to his workshop to offer advice or critiques. "It has low intelligence—it's nothing but a simpleton that rampages about with brute strength."
"Is that so?"
"More importantly, if you find any automata still in the ruins, please destroy them."
"Why is that, Elena?"
"Because they are all inferior, low-grade products. I am the one and only automata. The Queen of Automata. I was created to be so. The automata remaining in the ruins are rebels who plotted treason against me. Do not leave such things in existence."
"I see. I understand."
Several blue-haired automata were found in various ruins, but in accordance with Elena's wishes, they were all dismantled and disposed of.
Since some of the parts from those automata were compatible with Elena, she finally returned to her perfect body in the twentieth year of his work.